


It Gets Easier

by autonomousquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autonomousquill/pseuds/autonomousquill
Summary: Seamus hadn't expected to spot Dean playing Muggle football, eight months after the war. And he certainly hadn't expected to shag him.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Sexy times in the interlude chapter - the rest is PG.

Dusk hadn’t quite settled yet, but it was still a little chilly as Seamus began his trek home. Hands stuffed inside his jacket pockets, he tried to block out the weariness of the day, looking forward to getting back to his flat, having a hot cup of tea, and relaxing.

Merlin knew he needed it, after spending yet another endless day moving stock in a Muggle warehouse. It was boring work, and paid little enough, but it was as far away from anything magical as he was ever likely to get. Seamus didn’t even mind that the task could have taken about five seconds with a wand. Moving felt better than standing still.

Eight months on from the war, he knew he should have gotten over it by now. But he’d spent three months abroad, trying to forget the faces who had fixed him with their blank, dead stares. After he’d come back, he’d stayed with his mam for a while, until he could bear the thought of her having to look after him no longer.

So he left, and found a flat in Yorkshire, and settled into Muggle life. Magic reminded him too much of what had been lost.

He’d been hoping the time spent alone would jolt him out of whatever depression this was. But all it had really done was deaden his senses, and emotions.

His feet took him along the pavement, past the familiar street lamps, and across to the muddy pitch on which Muggle teams played various sports from time to time. Sometimes, he thought of Quidditch, and whether doing something for fun might help, but he’d never really been much of a flier.

‘Here! Over here!’

Seamus spun around so fast he might have Disapparated on the spot. There was no mistaking that voice. But what on earth would he be doing here? 

Realising it hadn’t been _him_ his friend was calling out to, he searched the pitch, squinting at the players in turn.

And there he was. Dean Thomas, wearing a blue and yellow kit, streaking up the pitch with a Quaffle-sized ball skimming the grass in front of him.

So this must be kickball, or football, or whatever it was, thought Seamus. Something strange was filling his chest, and it wasn’t until he’d taken a few steps towards the spectators that he realised what it was. 

Happiness.

* * *

 

He’d never understood Dean’s fascination with the Muggle sport — what was interesting about a game that involved only one ball, where no one was allowed to fly? 

Even so, Seamus stood amongst the other fans, his eyes following Dean as he ran up and down the pitch. The game itself might not have been very interesting, but the tall, lithe player certainly was. Seamus had never expected his lanky friend to be a particularly good athlete, especially given how much time he spent drawing and painting, but Dean had definitely outflown him at Quidditch trials during their Hogwarts years. And even though he didn’t really follow this sport, he could tell Dean was good.

Every move he made was so fluid, so precise. The ball was not a separate object but an extension of himself, Seamus thought. This wasn’t sport; it was art.

His thoughts hadn’t strayed to Dean in a very long time, not like this. There had been moments during his seventh year, and possibly even earlier, if he was willing to admit it, when Seamus had found himself admiring Dean. His smile, the way his forehead creased when he was concentrating, his easy humour. But he’d stomped down on any feelings that might have been more than friendly. 

Dean wasn’t gay.

Still, as the players came off the pitch after the referee blew the final whistle, he couldn’t help but stick around when he noticed some of them taking off their shirts. He didn’t really want Dean to spot him, but he smiled at the thought of having something to reflect back on later (and possibly jerk off to).

He meandered back to the edge of the pitch, and out of the corner of his eye, caught Dean pulling his top off, wiping his face with it. 

Leaving school hadn’t changed him; the dark skin was still smooth and rippled, reminiscent of all those times they’d gotten changed in their dorm back at school. Seamus grinned to himself, and kept on his path back to the road.

‘Seamus?’

This time, the sandy-haired boy didn’t spin around. He stopped walking though, and his heart felt like it had caught in his throat.

‘Seamus!” Dean ran over and laid a hand on his shoulder. Fortunately, he’d put his shirt back on. ‘It _is_ you!’

Seamus grinned weakly, his face turning pink. He’d been so close to getting away without Dean noticing anything.

‘How long were you watching for, eh?’

‘Oh, erm, not long, thought you might have been busy though, so I wasn’t going to say hi. Sorry.’ 

‘What, hanging out with these guys? Nah, we go to the pub for a drink afterwards sometimes, but it’s nothing special, it’s a social league.’ Seamus nodded, glancing back at the other players. ‘So what’re you doing round here? Haven’t heard from you in ages.’

‘I live here, actually, a couple of streets away. Didn’t feel like getting right back into the middle of everything after… well, you know.’ As they spoke, they walked back to the footpath, though neither of them really had a destination in mind.

‘You live here? I’m pretty close too - I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around until now. I thought you went abroad?’ 

‘I did, for a couple of months, and then I went and stayed with me mam for a while, and then I came and found a flat down here last month.’ 

‘Couldn’t have written all this in a letter, could you?’ Dean asked, laughing. ‘Thought my best mate had gone and done a runner.’ They stopped on the street corner, daylight finally giving way to night. ‘Come on, come back to mine and we’ll have a drink and a proper catch up.’

It didn’t take Seamus very long to make a decision. Despite all the memories of the past flying up to meet him again, they weren’t dragging him down; he was remembering instead why he loved Dean so much. They were mates.

‘Deal.’


	2. ii

A ten minute walk that led the two of them down a few side streets and past Seamus’ favourite pub brought them to Dean’s flat. It was a narrow brick building much like Seamus’ own, squashed up between identical houses on either side.

‘One of the strikers I play with lives upstairs, but he’s out of town at the moment. Erm, the goal-scorer,’ he added, noticing the way Seamus raised his eyebrows. ‘So it’s just us. I’ve got some beers in the fridge, but we might have to order takeaways.’

Seamus nodded, following his friend inside. It wasn’t as if he’d had anything planned for that evening anyway.

As Dean walked into the next room, he picked up a small rectangular object, pressed it, and suddenly, a box in the corner of the room lit up. Seamus sat down on the couch, laughing.

‘Blimey, is that one of those televox things?’ he asked, as he watched men run around playing the same game Dean had been half an hour ago.

‘Thought you might like that,’ Dean replied, walking to the kitchen to grab them a few beers. ‘A television. All Muggles have one - my mum gave me this old thing when I moved out.’ He grinned, sitting down next to Seamus and passing him a bottle. 

‘So it doesn’t run on magic at all? Weird.’ Seamus took a long swig. Muggle technology amused him, but even so, he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. It might have been more football, but it wasn’t _that_ boring, he thought. And clearly, Dean himself didn’t think so.

‘Doesn't it get confusing if you’ve got so many people chasing after one ball?’ he asked, pointing at the screen. Dean chuckled, clapping a hand on Seamus’ knee.

‘Mate, _Quidditch_ is confusing - football is the beautiful game. This is my team, you know, the poster I had in the dorm. West Ham.’ He proceeded to point out a few of his favourite players, explaining some of the rules whenever something interesting happened.

Seamus sat in silence through all this, trying to take it in. _Beautiful_ was about the right word, especially when it came to the way Dean played. But some of these men looked just as skilful, playing the ball with just about every part of their body, beside the arms and hands. 

And it wasn’t just the players with passion. Some of the fans outdid even the most fervent Quidditch fans he’d ever seen, with painted faces and signs and off-key renditions of team songs.

When Dean got up to order them some food, Seamus tried to keep following along on his own, and found that he actually did understand most of what was happening. Whether it had been Dean’s explanation or just his sudden surge of interest, he couldn’t be sure.

By the time his friend came to sit down again, he’d already picked out his favourite player (a West Ham player, of course). The way he moved reminded him of one of his favourite Quidditch players; he looked as comfortable in the air as he did on the ground. Dean joined him enthusiastically, and they talked about the key strengths and weaknesses of Seamus’ new team.

He was just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, this was something he could get into, when the doorbell rang. There was only five minutes left to play (West Ham were 2-0 up), so Dean switched the box over to a different channel before getting their food.

Seamus kept watching as a newsreader appeared on the screen, dull and monotonous, a stark contrast to the images that had been there a few seconds earlier. He stared over at the small rectangular device Dean had used, but tried to listen as the man spoke about some American crisis.

Strangely enough, though, he found he wasn’t bored. Whatever kind of Muggle life he’d been trying to live didn’t even come close to the life Dean had built up.

They sat and ate their takeaway curry in relative silence, listening to the news and joking occasionally that wizards had been involved with the current events. 

For the first time in a long time, things felt normal, and Seamus still couldn’t hold back his smile. The happiness that had swelled up inside his chest had stabilised now, but hadn’t decreased in intensity. How could he have been so foolish as to think that staying away from his friends would keep him happy?

‘What’s got you grinning like that? Is it because I’ve introduced you to football? Because you know, I’ve been trying to do that for years - although I’m glad you’ve finally accepted I was right all along.’

‘Ah, you wish. It’s not Quidditch, but I guess it’s alright.’ Seamus paused for a moment, and then decided to do a bit of teasing of his own.

'So, you've got your own place, you’ve got plenty of alcohol - guess all you need now is the girls.’ He gave Dean a playful shove in the ribs, and the other boy laughed, rolling his eyes.

‘You’re not serious? Well, I guess you _wouldn’t_ know, now I come to think about it…’

‘Know what?’ Seamus put down his empty bottle, trying not to take notice of how close they’d moved together on the couch.

‘Well, I’m kind of more into guys.’

The ease with which Dean said this stunned him into silence. Seamus himself had never once mentioned his sexuality to anyone, not even his mam; though he’d long suspected she knew anyway. There had been a few Muggle boys in the gay club in town, too, but they hardly counted. There hadn’t been much talking.

‘But - you’re gay? - I mean, you and Ginny, and there was that Hufflepuff girl in fourth year too -’

Dean simply shrugged.

‘All I did was ask her to the Yule Ball - and as for Ginny, well, she was only dating me ‘cos she couldn’t date Harry. I think she got pretty bored of me, we never actually did much apart from all the snogging. I liked her, and she’s pretty, but I don’t know, something always seemed off.’ Seamus was reeling. Had he really been that oblivious to his best friend’s relationships?

Dean was still smiling, brushing a hand confidently through his hair. It was an unwelcome distraction, causing his words to catch in his throat, although Seamus didn’t think he had anything very articulate to say anyway.

‘Come on. You’re not telling me you didn’t consider dating a girl at some point just to keep up appearance?’

At _that_ , Seamus’ jaw dropped open.

‘What? What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked sharply.

Dean went red, coughed, and abruptly stood up.

‘Oh, sorry, no, I just thought - or maybe hoped, I suppose,’ he added, his voice trailing off. Clearing his throat, he picked up their empty plates and took them through to the kitchen, deliberately avoiding his friend’s eyes.

Seamus was struggling to register what had just passed between them. It had been so quick, it might never have happened. Dean had made his sexuality very clear, but he might have imagined the words that had followed.

All he could think about now was the way Dean had so easily cosied up to him on the couch, how he’d patiently tried to explain football, how they’d teased each other like they had back at school. 

But friends did all that, didn’t they? 

Desperate for something to do to bring his mind back into focus, he picked up the takeaway boxes and followed Dean to the kitchen, staring at his hands.

Dean’s gay, he thought. Dean’s _gay_. Of course, that still might not mean anything with respect to himself, but-

They collided in the doorway, the taller boy nearly knocking Seamus over. Hands reached out to steady him, but in their brief moment of contact, Seamus’ skin prickled, and he could feel heat radiating off the other boy.

It was just the beer, he told himself. They’d had a few too many to drink.

Never mind the fact that there were only three empty bottles on the table.

‘Fuck, of course I’m gay, you prat,’ he blurted out.

For a moment, Dean looked as though he might lean down and snog him; though perhaps that was also wishful thinking on Seamus’ part. Instead, he took the takeaway boxes off him, smiling.

‘I knew it. I _knew_ it.’

Seamus huffed, his heart pounding after the verbal admission of something he’d never really wanted to acknowledge.

‘Oh, shut up. Look, are we gonna shag, or are you gonna stand there grinning like a bloody fool all night?’ 

‘What makes you think I’d even go for your Irish arse?’

‘Well, I mean, I can go home, if you like.’

They stared at each other like that for a moment, barely feet apart in the tiny kitchen, before they both closed the distance simultaneously, snogging with reckless abandon.

As far as dates went, Seamus thought briefly, this wasn’t bad.


	3. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just smut. Graphic. Feel free to skip this chapter if you're not into that.

Seamus had Dean pinned up against his kitchen wall and he didn’t really know how it had happened.

They were grappling at each other desperately, as though trying to make up for lost time. The only noises audible in the tiny little kitchen were gulps of air before they went back to snogging. 

Blood was pounding in his ears - which, for a brief moment, struck Seamus as odd, since most of the blood in his body seemed to be rushing to his cock. But he didn’t really have much time to think about that, since Dean started to grab his arse too, and all rational thought went out the window.

His hips pushed up against Dean’s, and he could feel the other boy’s cock straining through his jeans too. A groan was heard then, but Seamus couldn’t say whether it had been his voice or not. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was up against Dean, a boy he’d been wanting to shag since their school days.

There was no way he was going to pass up a chance like this.

Reaching down, he cupped Dean through his jeans, and the groan that followed was definitely the other boy’s. He took the opportunity to move his lips down to graze across his jawline, his throat, his collarbone. There was so much of Dean to explore - and he hoped that he might be able to. 

But not right now. He needed it hot, hard, and fast.

He unzipped the front of Dean’s jeans and reached in to grab his cock, which was already hard, pressing up against his hand. 

There was another groan, and Dean pulled Seamus’ hand away. Disappointed, he was about to object, but Dean cut across him.

“Bedroom. Come on.” He ran his hand over Seamus’ cock, still trapped in his pants, but grabbed his hand instead, pulling him along.

They were a tangle of limbs and hands and throbbing cocks, but they managed to get to Dean’s room, divesting themselves of shirts as they went. 

Seamus collapsed onto the bed and Dean’s hands immediately went for his belt, pulling it away so he could reach in for his cock. He couldn’t quite suppress a gasp as large hands wrapped around him gently, freeing him, and before Seamus knew it, Dean’s mouth was there too, sucking on his cock.

“Fuck.”

There was very little said after that, aside from the occasional grunt from Seamus as Dean wrapped his mouth around him. Somehow, Dean had managed to get rid of his jeans too, though Seamus couldn’t remember it happening. His friend was stroking his own cock lazily, thoroughly enjoying the blowjob he was giving.

Seamus was too. He was stretched out on the bed, hands gripping at the sheets, and his hips wereever so slightly rocking up to meet Dean’s mouth. It was probably the best blowjob he’d ever had - though he could count those on one hand. But there wasn’t really any room in his mind to think about all that - there was only ecstasy.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, pulling away. “Fuck me.” 

‘What?’

Grabbing his wand, he made a few quick gestures, one of which Seamus recognised as a spell to create lube, although he didn’t see any appear. ‘Fuck,’ he gasped, laying back down and spreading his legs apart. ‘Just - lube, and so neither of us catch anything,’ Dean added, waving his wand again to lube up Seamus’ cock too.

‘I haven’t, you know,’ he stammered, finally coming to the realisation that they were actually about to do this. He was about to fuck Dean.

‘Do you want to?’ Dean asked, pausing to look up at him.

‘Fuck, of course,’ he replied, his cock straining against his stomach.

‘Well then, it’s your first time, it’s not gonna be pretty. But it’s not rocket science either, just hurry up and fuck me or I’ll do it myself.’ He stretched out his legs even wider, precum already leaking from the tip of his own cock.

Seamus took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and pushed into Dean slowly, hardly believing what he was doing. The alcohol was clouding his mind just enough that he didn’t care about the fact that this was all going much faster than he’d anticipated.

‘Come on, move,’ the other boy whined, and with a little more encouragement, Seamus pushed his hips forward to bury himself inside Dean, who groaned loudly.

‘That’s it, fuck.’

Tight, wet heat surrounded Seamus’ cock. He could hardly bear it. This was infinitely better than his own hand, and even Dean’s mouth. How it had taken him this long to realise it was beyond him.

Feeling a little more confident, he pulled away and thrust back in again, trying to concentrate on the motion and not the fact that his orgasm was already building, far too quickly.

‘Shit, again, faster,’ Dean said, moving a hand to pull at his cock. 

Seamus breathed in heavily, shifting to give himself better leverage. He was wary of hurting Dean - he’d clearly done this before, but he was also _very_ tight. The lube was definitely helping, though, and it felt like the sensations might have been magically amplified.

Then again, it might just have been the fact that he was a virgin and he was fucking his schoolboy crush.

The pace began to increase, and Seamus couldn’t tell whether it was him or if it was Dean starting to rock back against his cock. But the sound of their legs slapping together was getting louder, as were the grunts and groans they were making. 

It was almost animalistic, and Seamus had never felt better.

His orgasm came almost as a shock, flooring him with the intensity, and he shot his load inside Dean, gripping his hips at the peak of his pleasure. He thrust a few more times, coming down from the high, and then wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock. 

Not long after, Dean gasped and came, arching his back as he spurted over his chest, breathing heavily. Seamus panted, exhausted, and pulled out as Dean waved his wand, cleaning them up.

They both collapsed in the centre of the bed, spent.


	4. iii

Seamus woke early the next morning. Sleeping had been difficult recently, and being in an unfamiliar environment didn’t really help, but the fact that the warm body lying next to him was _Dean_ seemed to make a difference. He hadn’t woken several times during the night drenched in sweat, anyway.

Closing his eyes again, he thought back to what had happened last night. In the heat of the moment, everything had happened so quickly, but Seamus couldn’t stop thinking about how _electric_ it had been. 

How right it had all felt.

Yawning, he pulled the blanket up a little higher, turning to rest on Dean a little more, who stirred slightly.

“Bit early to be awake, isn’t it?” he mumbled at Seamus, eyes still closed.

“Nah - well, maybe. I dunno what time it is.”

Dean sighed heavily, but made no move to get up.

“Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long time. We’ll have to do that again,” Seamus replied, smirking.

“Oh, we absolutely will.”

The thought of that made Seamus wish he’d contacted Dean sooner. But he’d been so afraid of what he would see in his friend - what kind of reminders his battle-scarred face would bring. He’d been hiding from those thoughts for months, refusing to acknowledge the fact that when he did face them, it would be much worse.

But, if anything, seeing Dean had brought back the intense relief he’d felt at knowing they’d both survived. The pain and trauma were still very real, but with Dean came the realisation that it was possible to still feel all that _and_ move on. Their friends wouldn’t hold it against them. Fred, Lavender, Remus; they would have all wanted them to keep living, with heads held high.

‘I’ve been an idiot, haven't I?’ 

Dean grinned.

‘You’ll have to be more specific,’ he replied, and Seamus gave him a shove.

‘I meant to write to you, you know. I just didn’t know what I wanted to say. Sorry.’ It sounded pathetic, even inside Seamus’ head, but he knew he had to at least try and explain himself to Dean.

‘I know.” Dean, nodded, yawned widely, and continuing. “I went back home to my mum too for a few weeks, you know. She kind of knew what was happening, but I told her anyway. She said that everyone was going to react differently - a shock like that, it doesn’t just go away overnight.’ He paused, his eyebrows furrowed, and then did something Seamus didn’t expect at all.

He reached over and squeezed Seamus’ hand, smiling.

‘I’m sorry too, you know. I should’ve checked in on you - I just didn’t know where you were, or if you even wanted to talk to me.’

But Seamus didn’t take in a single word of the last two sentences in; he was too busy looking at the hands clasped in front of him.

‘I missed you, on the run. That’s when I realised. I liked boys, but I - that I also liked you,’ Dean explained. “Not really a great time to realise, when you’re not sure if you’re ever going to see them again.”

“Suppose not. But then, war’s not really a great time for anything.”

They lay there for a while, still holding hands, not needing to speak. 

Dean had always been there for him. He’d always been able to make him laugh, and he’d always been patient and understood whenever Seamus had acted out and been a prat.

It wasn’t so great a jump from best friend to boyfriend, was it?

Even if this was just sex (which Seamus was really hoping it wasn’t), he would probably be ok with that. He hadn’t felt this alive in months; years, really. 

“I guess it changed a lot of things, didn’t it?” he said quietly. 

“Maybe,” Dean replied. “But change isn’t necessarily bad. I quite like this,” he added, indicating their hands. “It gets easier after a while. But - being with people, it helps.”

Seamus nodded. Yesterday, the world had seemed so dark, and closed off - or at least, that was the way he’d built it inside his own head.

But he’d be alright, he thought. They’d face the day together.


End file.
